The Polaris Protocol (8 page)

J
ennifer held her breath, hearing the soft rustle of men jogging by. Her phone vibrated and she saw it was Pike. She ignored the call and sent a text.

Can’t talk.

She waited until she was sure the men had gone, then dialed him back.

He answered on the first ring. “Hey, I’m in Atlanta. Should I catch a flight to Dallas or El Paso?”

She kept her voice low. “Pike, I’m in Mexico, and I’m in trouble.”

She expected an outburst, but he was all business. “What’s the situation?”

She heard a noise outside and hung up.

She held her breath again, afraid to make any sound, not for the last time wishing she had paid attention to Pike and stayed in El Paso. The scuffling faded and she leaned back against the refuse, the stench of the Dumpster she was hiding within nearly overpowering.

A text came in.
I’m coming.

It was of little use, since even if Pike was texting from inside an aircraft on the runway, he was still a good five or six hours away, but it gave her a needed boost in confidence, something that had faded after she’d left her car.

Once she’d decided on a direction, she’d gone only about five blocks, running between the concrete buildings, when two cars stopped at a house about seventy meters away—one of them a police vehicle. Two uniformed officers exited and split up, knocking on the doors to houses. She sprang out at the sight, almost giddy with relief. She was jogging toward the police car when a man came out of one of the houses and pointed in her direction. The policeman saw her and bellowed at the other car. The civilian vehicle spilled out men and she began sprinting in the other direction.

She had run blindly through the dilapidated neighborhoods, jumping over fences and zigzagging across lots, her speed much greater than that of the men chasing her. She’d eventually lost them inside a vulcanizing business, the back lot covered with stacks of old tires, some reaching ten feet in the air. She’d cut straight through, but the men chasing were forced to search, giving her breathing room. Jogging through an alley, she’d found a Dumpster behind a grocery store and decided to risk discovery by hiding rather than moving.

Pike’s call had been a long five hours ago, way before the sun began sinking below the horizon. She continued waiting until she saw the glow of a halogen security light on the corner of the store, wanting the darkness to cloak her heritage from anyone who saw her.

She raised the lid of the Dumpster and cautiously scanned through the crack but saw no one. She hoped the searchers had given up but didn’t think they would.

The bridge had become a long-term goal. Something out of reach. Her short-term objective was now a business area. Someplace with restaurants and hotels, away from the claustrophobic poverty of the graffiti-covered concrete she was now in. Someplace where the people might help her, or at least prevent the men chasing her from doing anything that would draw attention to themselves.

She exited and softly lowered the lid, then began moving down the alley, continuing her trek east. She reached the next road and surveyed the far side for a crossing point, a waxing moon providing enough illumination to show the buildings were all connected in one way or another. No alleys.

She caught movement to her right and saw two figures coming down the sidewalk about seventy meters away. A car turned the corner, its headlights sweeping across her alley and causing her to fall back. It stopped adjacent to the men and she heard muffled conversation carry across the still night air.

Didn’t quit looking for me.

She waited until the car rolled on, then studied the men. When she was sure they were moving away and not toward her, she scuttled across the street. She stopped under an awning, the darkness cloaking her, waiting to see if she’d alerted any searchers. She had not. She slid down the wall, putting distance between her and the men, and reached a wrought-iron fence with a gate leading into a small yard. She was leaning forward, straining to see if there was a way through, when a dog hit the fence full force, barking uncontrollably and causing her to leap back. It was a pit bull, literally frothing at the mouth, trying mightily to reach her and rend her flesh, snarling and snapping a foot away.

She scrambled to her feet, the adrenaline firing, and saw the men down the street now running toward her position, no more than fifty meters away, one of them shouting into a radio. She looked at the gate, seeing a cheap lock and handle, the dog alone the real protection for the house. She grabbed the handle, testing the strength. Deciding.

She turned and waited, seeing the men closing the distance, the dog in a frenzy at her back, her arms trembling, her mind begging her to run. When they were twenty feet away she yanked the gate handle with all of her might, breaking it open and freeing the beast.

She swung the gate wide, slamming it against her body as a shield against the dog. It made one attempt to get at her, then shot at the men like a bullet, leaping up and clamping its jaws around the nearest one’s arm. Jennifer heard a scream but was already moving through the gate and into the yard. A vicious fight broke out behind her as she sprinted across the open space, the dog holding his own against both men.

She leapt up and toe-kipped off of a cinder-block wall, gaining another foot while turning in midair and snagging a beam that ran the length of the eave of the building. She swung her legs back and forth twice, generating momentum, then whipped them up and over her head, onto the roof.

She pushed herself the final stretch onto the rough shingles, hearing a gunshot and the scream of the dog. She took off across the building, looking for a way out. She jumped the small gap to the next roof, a tin one, making an enormous racket before reaching the edge next to the street. She squatted down and studied, seeing an abandoned industrial park across the way, the moonlight illuminating the broken windows and graffiti, the small manufacturing plant an unintended victim of the past violence. Beyond it, she saw the lights of Ciudad Juárez. Close. Very, very close.

Get there. Get some help. Get into the light. Get to people outside this ghetto.

She was scrambling off the roof, hanging on the edge with her hands, when two cars pulled to the left and right corners of her block. Men spilled out on both sides, placing her in the middle. She dropped and sprinted across the street, her goal now shrinking even further.

Lose them. Get out of their search grid.

They didn’t notice her until she hit the fence of the industrial park, the noise alerting them to her escape. She flipped to the far side and sprinted into the abandoned manufacturing facility, full of machinery, pulleys, and conveyor belts. The men followed, and her goal shrank yet again.

Separate them. Take them out one at a time.

She ran six feet in and crouched behind a generator, the moon illuminating the ground through the skylights above. She heard the men coming and debated her position, knowing she was wasting precious time. Run, or fight? She might be able to outdistance the men and reach the lights on the far side. But she couldn’t outrun a radio, and she’d seen a man using one. Stay here and fight, and she could remove them one by one as they searched. Getting a weapon in the process.

The decision was made for her as shadows broke the light. She counted five and dashed back, waiting on them to spread out.

S
he heard muffled talking, then noises from the men moving in different directions. She backed up slowly and crouched behind some piece of machinery she couldn’t have identified in the daylight, her primary concern to always leave herself an out. Leave a means of escape.

Don’t get cornered. Hit them one at a time, and move on.

She heard one man approaching, walking slowly in the darkness, and waited. She caught a glow behind her and whirled around, seeing nothing, then felt the vibration in her purse.

Christ.

She’d slung her purse across her back and it was her smartphone, coming to life, the glow spilling out. The buzz of the vibration sounding like a bullhorn. She frantically swung the purse around and silenced the buzzing, seeing it was Pike. She powered down the phone completely, listening for a reaction.

The man had paused. She waited, breathing through an open mouth. She heard him shuffle forward and got ready to fight.

She considered what she would do. What technique she would use when he arrived. She wanted to subdue him and grab his weapon. To knock him out. In truth, she wanted to give him the chance to surrender. Other foolish thoughts flitted through her head before she realized she couldn’t do any of them. Not if she wanted to live.

He broke the plane of the machine she was hiding behind, and she struck to kill, launching forward like a rattlesnake behind a rock.

She drove a palm strike into the bridge of his nose with her full weight behind it, then circled her right arm around his neck as he staggered back, breaking his balance. She swept his legs out from under him and facilitated the fall, dropping to a knee and slamming the back of his neck onto her thigh. Snapping it cleanly.

She searched him rapidly, finding no weapon whatsoever.

Shit.

She heard the men calling, shouting among themselves from the commotion, then heard them begin to move her way. She slid along the floor, using her feet to check for debris, not wanting to make any noise that would give away her position. She stopped in the shadows of a giant press, sick at what she’d been forced to do, the adrenaline flooding through her body.

Go away. Please, please go away.

She heard two men find the kill, both screaming in Spanish about what they would do to her, as if that would make her surrender.

Four more.

She found another ambush position and waited, needing them to split up again. She felt around the ground, her hand closing on a piece of lumber. She heard the men separate, one moving deeper into the warehouse and the other coming her way, but at an angle that would cause him to pass her position about ten feet away. She needed him close. She rapped her knuckles against the steel of an empty tank, the noise sounding like a subdued gong.

The man hissed and began jogging in a stutter-step, slowed by the darkness. She saw the shadows, the flickering of movement, and waited. He broke into her line of sight, and she struck, cracking him in the head with the length of wood. He screamed, whirling his own club full force, catching her in the shoulder and slamming her into the metal she was hiding behind. The pain snapped through her like an electric shock, bouncing the two-by-four out of her hand.

She rolled on the ground, and he struck again. She writhed, and the club missed, hitting the concrete. She lashed out with her leg and caught his knee, breaking his stance and opening him up. She rose into a crouch as he brought the club high. He swung and she darted inside. She popped his chin back with her left hand, then speared his throat, driving her knife-hand as if she was trying to hit something behind him. She sprang back, and he fell to his knees, choking out phlegm. His throat swelled, and he collapsed face forward.

Three more.

She heard the men reacting to the noise and moved away in a crouch. She saw a shadow pass to her left and began backpedaling, looking for a new position that allowed escape. She saw a shadow to the right and froze, needing the man to continue on. Needing one-on-one combat.

The shadow moved down a section of Conex containers, then disappeared. She strained her ears and heard a gasp, followed by the meaty thump of something striking metal.

What the hell?

She remained still and heard the man begin moving again, searching away from her.

She circled back the way she’d come, slipping into a block of conveyor belts. She went twenty feet and realized her mistake. The equipment was pinning her in, giving no escape, leaving a single lane to advance. She turned to get back into the facility proper, among the machines, when she saw another shadow. She crouched, staring into the darkness, praying it was her imagination.

The shadow became a man, coming toward her. She slowly started slinking the other way when she heard a noise. Coming from the other end.

She stopped, trying to focus through the overwhelming fear.

Two on one. Two on one. Need to kill the first immediately.

She knew it would do no good. She couldn’t take them both on and win, and they were too close to separate.

The man to her left shouted something in Spanish, and the one to the right answered. They continued on, both with their arms up, one with another club.

They know I’m close.

She crouched and scuttled backward, the belt above her head. Panting, she swiveled left and right, watching them advance, the one on the left much closer. He reached her position, unsure of her exact location. She struck, swinging her leg from underneath the conveyor, whipping it just above his ankles and sweeping him off of his feet.

His head cracked the ground and she fell on top of him, forgetting her skills, instead attacking like a thing possessed. She grabbed his hair and thumped his head into the concrete as hard as she could. Once, twice, three times, until she saw a growing pool of fluid.

She jumped to her feet, hearing the second man closing the distance. Behind him she saw a third, sprinting toward her.

Lord help me, I don’t want to die.

She crouched into a fighting stance, snapping her head left and right for a piece of machinery to separate them. Anything to keep her one-on-one, where she stood a chance of survival. And seeing nothing.

The third man closed the gap, assuring a two-on-one fight, both men less than ten feet away. She growled like an animal and raised her fists. He slapped his hands into the hair of the man up front and yanked him off his feet, slamming him into the ground. He rotated around onto the man’s chest, pinning him and clamping the head in a vise with both arms. He twisted violently, then stood up, facing her.

“You think you could answer your fucking phone?”

Pike.
She sagged to the floor.